


I've Encountered Something I Cannot Deny

by syringe



Series: Ghosts of Christmas [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A tiny bit gross but there's no piss i promise, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Babbling, Bodily Fluids, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Dirty Talk, Drarry, Exhibitionism, Fist Fights, Implied Mpreg, Infidelity, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Light Angst, London, M/M, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Misuse of the word Tesco, Obsession, Oneshot, Plot, Porn With Plot, Post-Hogwarts, Rimming, Shameless Smut, Some Humor, Spirits, Stalker Draco Malfoy, Stalking, Time Travel, Top Harry Potter, UST, Voyeurism, but there's an awful lot of porn, includes one scene where underage an character gets himself off but nothing else happens, just for fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23663806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syringe/pseuds/syringe
Summary: "I be the Ghost of Christmas Past, coming to guide Mister Harry Potter before it is too late.""Ghost of-" Harry shook his head, "it's not Christmas. It's not even close to Christmas! It's September, for crying out loud!"or, Just before Harry's about to say fuck it, and go through with a wedding he does not want to have, three Spirits arrive in his bedroom not to tell, but toshowhim something else he'd much rather be doing. Namely a rich blond prat called Draco Malfoy, who's got a couple more issues than even Harry had originally thought him to have.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Ghosts of Christmas [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1708627
Comments: 15
Kudos: 569





	I've Encountered Something I Cannot Deny

**Author's Note:**

> hello! :-) this is based heavily on "a christmas carol" by charles dickens- although it's neither christmas in real life nor in the timeline of this story. and it's decidedly smuttier (60% of it, I'm tempted to say)
> 
> this is also the longest oneshot i've, i think, ever written! i usually opt for writing shorter fics since i have a ridiculously low attention span. if any of the scenes seem a little rushed, that may be the reason why >< (although personally i have yet to see my own flaws)
> 
> regardless, i've grown rather fond of this story over the course of writing it, and i hope you like it as much as i do! :-)♡

Harry entered his home at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place after an exhausting day at the Burrow. He'd never have thought, a few years ago, that a day spent with the Weasleys and Ginny could possibly be described as anything other than a good time, but here he was. 

The dim, slightly musty hallways of Number Twelve were a welcome reprieve from the chaos of having to answer to questions about marriage, marriage, _marriage_ at the Weasleys'. Harry knew they meant well, but he simply felt like it was too early. Or something.

Ginny, too, was lovely- if not for the way she'd taken to hovering around Harry at all times and talking at him like he'd die without her voice in his ears. It was always him, her and her cleavage at the Burrow these days, and he hadn't a blooming clue as to why the latter was on the list of _bad things_.

But Number Twelve... Number Twelve was dusty. The halls were a bit damp-smelling, they were mostly a disgruntling shade of maroon and Kreacher had not greeted him at the door again today, as per custom. But it was quiet- and none of the furniture was making subtle-unsubtle hints about marriage at twenty-one, and that was _good enough_ for Harry.

Quietly, he made his way up a flight of stairs to Sirius' bedroom, or, well, what was now Harry's bedroom. The walls had been painstakingly bared of any and all half-naked women, courtesy of the Hermione, but little else had been changed.

"Ginny, I-Love-You. Will you marry me?" Harry muttered to himself as he stripped off his shirt, then his pants. He furrowed his brows, and shook his head, for it sounded all wrong.

_Too stiff_ , he supposed, and tried again, "ILoveYou, Gin. Marry me?" he frowned, " _No_. Who says that?"

"I want you to marry me, Ginny," he made his way to the bathroom, "Why? Because we're in love."

He exhaled, squeezing too much paste out onto his toothbrush and looking himself dead in the eye in the mirror over the sink.

"Ginny, I want to marry... I mean I want to _get_ married. Fuck it- let's get married-"

By the time he was in his pyjamas and slipping under the covers, he'd gone through dozens of proposals in his head, each growing more passive aggressive than the previous.

"Ginny, I want to marry you. Because we're twenty-one and time is running out, of course. And don't look now, but your Mum's standing behind you with a potato peeler and I think she's going to chuck it at me if I don't get down on one knee quick. Merlin, this is so stupid."

It was a frustrated sleep that took over him, but the darkness proved to be a much needed reprieve regardless.

Unfortunately, sleep did not last long, and Harry found himself awake in the dead of the night with a house elf glaring down its nose at him. Said elf was not Kreacher.

The first thing Harry said was, "AAAH!" and after that, "Wha- er, who are you?"

Most distressingly, the Elf did not reply. Harry began to notice how it was glowing around the edges, rather noticeably so- the wrinkled skin of the elf awash with golden in a way that was not entirely unpleasant looking, but wholly alarming to think of. 

"I be the Ghost of Christmas Past," the Elf said finally, enormous amber eyes glowing brightly, "I be a spirit, come to guide Mister Harry Potter before it is too late."

"Ghost of-" Harry shook his head, "it's not Christmas. It's not even close to Christmas! It's September, for crying out loud!"

Harry was familiar with A Christmas Carol, alright, thanks to Dudley's uncanny ritual of watching it every single year without fail. He wasn't sure how an idea as ludicrous as that of spirits that send you visions was permissible in Dursley household, but he supposed Christmas tales were a grey area for the family. Hence, Santa Claus. 

It had occurred to him, of course, that the tale was likely based on magical phenomenons in real life, and brought to muggles in a watered down fashion. It was just too close to Divination to be anything otherwise. However, Harry had never anticipated _himself_ being involved in this fiasco anytime soon. 

"Mister Harry Potter is being _thinking too much_!" the Elf snapped, before clamping long spindly fingers over his elbow. Through his nightshirt, the spirit's 'skin' felt eerily cold, and Harry yelped involuntarily even as he was being dragged towards the window. 

"Wait, are you actually going to take me to the past? Flying? Like, in the sky?" Harry questioned, flushing red at his own lack of articulacy. The window opened of its own accord, wind billowing into his bedroom as cold as the spirit's touch. 

The aforementioned spirit glanced solemnly at him, "Yes, we is being flying. Like, in the sky." He swore, under his breath, and swore again some more as he felt himself go weightless and flutter out the window into the starless night sky.

Harry tried not to look down while he tightened his grip on the Elf's long, glowing fingers. He may have been an experienced flier, but the solidity of a broom (or a hippogriff or even, perhaps, a dragon) was something that helped keep him grounded in flight. This sort of slow, never ending free-fall over the treetops was only helpful in relieving his stomach of its contents. 

"H-hey, knock it off already," Harry complained weakly, and the Elf seemed to have taken pity on him for in the next moment, Harry found himself within blissfully familiar wooden walls. 

Perhaps... too familiar. 

He tried in vain to choke down a wave of nostalgia at the sight of the old Quidditch locker room. "Is this..." he started, but was abruptly cut off by a shirtless Oliver Wood passing through him. _Through him?_

Horrified, Harry began patting himself down, and was shocked to see that his body had developed the ethereal glowiness of his spirit companion.

"Mister Harry Potter is not being seen," the spirit informed him, "He is being invisible and transparent like the dwellers of the afterlife, only for tonight."

"Okay, okay," Harry nodded the affirmative, his heart still racing from the spook he'd received, "why are we at Hogwarts? And what's Oliver doing here?"

"Mister Harry Potter will be seeing soon," the Elf said cryptically, "he must be keeping in mind that I be the Ghost of Christmas Past."

Harry pondered over this for a moment, but inspiration only struck him once he was passed by not one, but two sweaty, teenaged Weasley twins, both brandishing beaters' bats and wide grins. 

"George... and Fred, too," he gasped, a lump rising unbidden in his throat, "this means we're in the past after all."

_But where am I?_ was a question that had just begun to tickle his mind before he found himself suddenly outside of the musty locker room.

"You really need to stop doing that," he grumbled, and sighed in irritation when yet another exhausted player bustled right through him; a Slytherin this time.

"Be turning your eyes over there," the spirit instructed him, and Harry considered ignoring the little menace just to spite it. Curiosity won out in the end, however, and Harry found himself looking down at two familiar heads of hair: one jet black and the other snowy white.

"Bet you think you're so special, don't you, Potter?" Malfoy snarled, his voice sounding oddly squeaky in his adolescence, "Lording your so called victory over the heads of your dunderheaded followers as if you haven't won it with a few cheap tricks?"

"I remember this," Harry thought, still examining Malfoy in his fifteen year old state. He was sure that's when this had taken place, because he recalled that that was the year in which the blond's voice had begun to crack.

They really had been young, he thought, running his gaze over Malfoy's pinched face and greased back hair. His skinny shoulders jutted out awkwardly through his Slytherin jumper and his thighs were no doubt bony under his expensive trousers.

He thought back to the Malfoy he encountered every once in a while at the local Tesco. The twenty-one year old with broad shoulders and soft, tumbling hair. His deep rumbling voice and the haughty aloofness that had replaced his childish hotheadedness.

"Fuck you, Malfoy, you wouldn't know a fair game if it spanked your arse and called you a fairy," fifteen year old Harry snapped back, and Harry mentally high-fived himself for a comeback well delivered. He, too, looked alarmingly young in this moment: all knobbly knees and lanky height. His hair was just as untameable as ever, and the shadows under his eyes reminded Harry of darker times. Seeing himself so small, he wondered how he'd managed to brave the weight of all his responsibilities on his two narrow shoulders.

Malfoy's cheeks flushed bubblegum pink, and he threw himself at his nemesis with a growl.

"I be speeding this part up, it be too lengthy and tiresome," the Elf said in a bored fashion, and waved its hand. The scene, in turn, sped up to twice its original speed.

"Hey! I was gonna see myself pummelling Malfoy again!" Harry whined, but the Elf raised a hand to stop both his stream of words, as well as the scene before them.

"Mister Potter can be watching it in a pensieve. Fighting be irrelevant. Look now."

Harry rolled his eyes, but watched on, eagerly. Malfoy was, as he remembered, on the ground panting. A sweaty Harry had him pinned there, a final punch exploding onto the unbroken skin of Malfoy's cheek.

"You want more? I could give you more," the brunet managed to get in, between big gasping breaths. Drops of sweat were visibly beginning to roll off the bridge of his nose and onto Malfoy's face, but the blond did not scowl.

To Harry's reawakened outrage, Malfoy spit up in his face, "Try me, you filthy bastard-"

He remembered now, how the promising fight had been broken up by an exasperated Angelina ("Come on, Harry, we've got a party to get to!") and Harry had abandoned his rival without much preamble, managing to get in a nasty scowl while he wiped the saliva off his face. Malfoy had risen up on his elbows to glare back at him, but did not follow, instead choosing to remain where he was panting and wheezing.

"Alright, remembering that made me feel better for sure," Harry informed the Elf truthfully, "could we leave n-"

"Shhh," the spirit shushed him rudely, "now is being the beginning of the real vision. Mister Harry Potter is to be watching carefully."

Harry didn't argue this time, instead opting to watch the blond who had flopped back onto his back and was now panting up at the sky, right there in the dry dirt in front of the locker rooms. His chest rose, fell, rose and fell again, and Harry watched as he closed his eyes, Adam's apple bobbing prominently as he swallowed his no-doubt dry throat.

Harry wanted to question the Elf again, but opted to remain silent as his ex-rival rose shakily up on his feet. What exactly was he supposed to be learning from this? Had he done Malfoy some irreparable harm on this day? Was this some sort of retribution for Malfoy's albeit unknown struggles against Harry? A guilt trip, perhaps?

But all Malfoy did was touch his fingers to one of the wet droplets on his face: Harry's sweat. He lifted the fingers up to eye-level, pinching and pressing his soiled digits together, circling his thumb in the saline fluid. There was no sneer of disgust on his face, rather, he had on an expression that Harry could not possibly decipher on his own.

The blond cast a surreptitious glance at the Gryffindor locker room before striding into his own with a grace that Harry honestly envied a bit. He and the Elf followed Malfoy into the now deserted Slytherin lockers, where said teenager had already chucked his shirts off and thrown them into a handsome little laundry hamper.

Harry averted his eyes from the lean white body, before wondering why he had reason to do so and promptly turning back to face him.

There was a mirror on the wall into which Malfoy was gazing intently, one hand toying with the drawstrings of his trousers while the other traced gentle fingers over the blossoming bruise on his cheekbone, and the sweat Harry had shed on him. An emotion burned in his eyes which the brunet could not identify for the life of him.

"Mister Draco Malfoy be starting now," the Elf said prophetically, and before Harry could utter so much as a 'huh?', Malfoy shot a quick glance at the entrance, brought his contaminated fingers to his face again-

And shoved them in his mouth. Harry might have squeaked at the suddenness and the... well, the shock of the action, but any such noise was drowned out by the guttural moan that rumbled in Malfoy's throat.

Grey eyes rolled back into his skull and he- Harry could not believe he was witnessing this with his own two eyes- he _sucked_ on his fingers with the fervour of a starving man. At Harry's salty sweat coating his digits.

He whimpered while suckling on them, head bobbing as if his fingers were a cock he was ordered to suck to save his own life. All too quickly, the blond had exhausted his skin of his rival's essence and he pulled off with an obscene wet pop.

"Fuck, Potter," he whispered to the emptiness of the locker room, digging clean fingers into the purpling spot where he'd just been punched, "so fucking easy to rile up, aren't you?"

Harry realized he'd been hoping to have been mistaken, that perhaps it wasn't really about him. Maybe this was some other... strange Malfoy idiosyncrasy that he'd never caught wind of, and the blond simply went round tasting people's sweat on a day to day basis at random. The sound of his name on Malfoy's lips, however, drove that idea to the bin.

"Fuck, fuck fuck fuck-!" the blond gasped, backing up till his knees hit the edge of a bench, sending him sprawling atop it on his back, "You've got no- no _idea_ , the things I wanna..."

Faster than wind, he pulled his strings loose and slid his trousers down to his thighs- no underpants- revealing a sight much like Harry felt at present: a cock flushed red, positively bursting with blood and jutting out beautifully from a thatch of springy blond coils.

"Jesus," Harry gasped, shifting uncomfortably in hopes that his own erection would simply give up and leave. Perhaps utter a 'whoops, didn't mean to bother you at this hour, mate! See you later, then. Cheerio!' No such thing had happened, of course, much to the brunet's dismay.

He watched as Malfoy panted and gasped, his strong hands with its prominent blue veins wrapping around the bobbing appendage and furiously beating it off, "Fuckfuckfuckfuck, what I'd, oh, what I'd do with-- ohhhh right now, suck my cock, Potter. That's it. Good boooy," Malfoy babbled. Harry's less favourable body part twitched at the words, completely unprompted. The blond's eyelids were screwed shut, light eyebrows pinched tightly together while his pale pink lips were parted in a moan. He seemed to be fantasizing intensely.

"Fuck, yes just- just like that. Pretty little mouth like yours, wasted on the shite that comes out of it," he continued, squeezing the shaft of his dick with one practiced hand while the other reached further below to squeeze his heavy balls, pink and ever so slightly fuzzy with minute blond hairs. Like a wicked little peach, ripe for the taking.

_Merlin_ , Harry thought, shocked at the private musings of his own treacherous mind. He'd forgotten all about them, however, when Malfoy kicked his trousers off entirely and spread his legs wide open, pale limbs parting like the red sea to expose the puckered little ring of flesh hiding behind his lovely bollocks.

Malfoy hissed, fisting a hand roughly in his sweat-loosened hair, "Yeah, you wanna, wanna touch me down there? You wanna finger my arsehole, Potter? Know you'd like that."

Harry, to his utter mortification, was not only _not_ disgusted, but also more turned on than he'd ever been in his life. He found himself mentally agreeing to every rhetorical question that escaped Malfoy's dirty mouth.

When the blond began to finger himself open, almost gentle in contrast with everything else he'd been doing so far, Harry lost his composure and moaned aloud. The breath stopped in his throat and the entire universe shrank into the puckered hole between Malfoy’s legs.

"Merlin," the boy sobbed, "Lord, fuck, fuck me now, Potter I need your- in me I need to- I'm loose, I'm so empty, fill me up! Wanna, want you t- stuff me- full of your cock-" he was two knuckles and two fingers deep inside of himself now, back arching off the bench while his socked feet curved and his toes wriggled against the ground. They were printed with little dancing apples of different colours-

Harry proceeded to forget himself, undoing his far-too-tight trousers with fervour and shoving a rough palm into his pants, fingers connecting with the damp heat of his-

Darkness.

Harry blinked, the sudden change in scenery leaving him disoriented. His eyes stung from the lack of light and it took him a good few moments to figure out that he was standing in the middle of his bedroom, a hand in his underwear and his ears ringing with silence.

Said ears were now flushing with shame and mortification. He had been about to pull one off to Malfoy. To Malfoy pulling himself off! To him, all over again!

The Elf was nowhere to be found, and Harry groaned again. He did not, for a second doubt that the spirits were real. The visions, however, left him rather dubious.

'He was _fifteen_!' Harry realized with another unpleasant jolt. He'd been well on his way to jacking off to imaginary delusions of a... fifteen year old Draco Malfoy masturbating to a younger Harry Potter.

"Must've been the whiskey," Harry murmured, toddling over to the bathroom whilst promising himself, for the twenty-ninth time, that he was never to drink again.

He didn't bother to light the sconces, instead feeling his way over to the sink and rinsing the precum off of his fingers. An embarrassed grimace twisted his lips when he felt his yet-stiff erection brush against the ceramic of the basin.

Subconsciously, Harry thought about himself, how he looked today versus six years ago. Not too different, he reckoned, still skinny, still wiry. Still stuck with his _stupid hair and his stupid glasses and that bloody scar_.

Blinking twice in succession, he shook the disdainful and eerily Malfoy-esque voice out of his head. Cor, he had to be going mad.

Then again, perhaps those were things Malfoy had been attracted to, he wondered as he dried his hands on a towel, would Malfoy still feel the same? With an only slightly broader Harry and a noticeably more handsome Malfoy?

"Fuck," Harry cursed, stomping over to his bed in the darkness and flopping down onto the soft mattress of it. He was well aware that the vision had been fake. Malfoy secretly harbouring major hots for him? Him, as in Harry? Impossible.

"Stupid quack spirits," the brunet grumbled, removing his spectacles and slamming them down on the bedside tabletop. His aching cock made it difficult for him to lie comfortably, and although he tried his very best to ignore the damned thing, it in turn did the most to remind Harry that he had ended up never seeing how Malfoy looked when he came. 

Another distressing thought was the matter of Ginny, and if this had counted as cheating. Micro-cheating, perhaps? Ginny's name fell at number seven-ish on the list of "Things that make this whole situation very fucked up": just below number six which was the fact that he had only thought of his current girlfriend after the five other things on the list. One of which was his lack of insight on Malfoy's cumming face. Or his cumming noise. Or perhaps his cumming prick. This dilemma, of course had jumped to spot number two for it had its own sub-categories.

"Oh-ho, so here resides Harry Potter!"

"Oh, fuck no, not again," Harry groaned, burrowing his face into his pillow in a futile attempt to hide from what he assumed would be-

"The Ghost of Christmas Present! Yes, you're absolutely correct, my boy!" 

"It's not _Christmas_ ," he deadpanned, to no avail it seemed, for the new spirit only had to reach for his ankle and tug on it. Harry glided out of his bed like he was no more than a piece of paper and was met with the sight of a glowing man who looked very much like a luminescent Horace Slughorn. 

"I'm sure my colleague has explained everything to you, already," he inquired gently. 

"Sure, but I don't want to go see Malfoy pull himself off for the rest of the night!"

The jolly spirit shot him a lingering glance that made him squirm abashedly.

"Are you sure about that?" he asked, and Harry felt himself turn red.

"I- I... will he at least be of age this time?" Harry mumbled.

"Why there is only one way to find out!" the Spirit exclaimed, before proceeding to half-pull, half-drag Harry back to the window.

"Actually, I can think of a _number_ of other ways to find out..." Harry grumbled, but allowed himself to be, reluctantly, dragged along with the Spirit of Christmas Present through yet another terrifying unassisted flight through the city.

To his pleasant surprise, Harry found himself touching down on sweet land after no longer than a minute. They were at a place he recognized well enough, if only by sight: an attractive apartment complex at the heart of London, just a few blocks down from Harry's own.

"Come along, young one," the jolly spirit said, and in the blink of an eye, Harry found himself in a rather stylish bedroom fit for a celebrity.

"You lot really need to stop doing that out of the blue," he grumbled, pouting, "it's really inconsiderate. And disconcerting."

The Spirit's eyes, however, urged Harry to direct his attention elsewhere. Elsewhere turned out to be a doorway behind him, from which Draco Malfoy emerged in a cloud of steam wearing nothing but a towel.

"Good Godric," Harry whispered in, oh, all right: _awe_. He'd already guessed, in some restricted part of his brain, that this would surely be Malfoy's home. It was close enough to the Tesco, anyway.

And alright, perhaps he'd been hoping to get another glimpse at Malfoy in the state he'd seen him just hours ago.

"Young Mister Malfoy returns home tonight from a rather taxing dinner party," the spirit informed him, and Harry nodded in acknowledgment. Though he'd only half heard him, no thanks to the way his eyes seemed to want to do nothing but run up, down and all over the long, lean lines of Malfoy's damp body.

"His Mother and Father are pressuring him to take a husband, and soon," the spirit continued, and that caught Harry's attention. 

"What?" he exclaimed, oddly annoyed at this bit of information, "Why?"

"Because it is required of him, of course," the spirit says matter-of-factly, "he must settle down and create a family in order to extend the Great Malfoy lineage."

"That's rubbish. It should be up to him, what he wants to do with his life," Harry grumbled, knowing full well why exactly the thought of new Malfoy children disturbed him to this extent. He decided to leave the elephant in the room where it was and ignored it vehemently. 

His train of thought derailed, however, when his eyes caught sight of Malfoy again. The blond was towelling his damp hair gently, the sopping locks reminding Harry uncannily of their sweat soaked counterpart he'd seen in the last vision. 

The man's deep sigh seemed to rumble in the deepest recesses of his chest. Harry noticed in mortification how his cock stood up and paid rapt attention to the sound. How something as simple as an exaggerated exhale from a man he was supposed to at _least_ dislike could get his groin throbbing so hard, he did not know. 

"Mister Malfoy now seeks comfort in the only thing that he knows will do the trick," the spirit commented, and Harry wondered what that could possibly have meant. 

He did not need to wonder long, though, for Malfoy paused with a hand on his hip, thinking. Once he'd decided on whatever he had, he threw one of the towels to the floor (where it conveniently vanished), and strolled his way over to a handsome dresser.

He examined himself in the mirror critically, and so did Harry. The blond had grown into his face, to an extent. His jaw was stronger and his pointiness a bit less pronounced. The ferret like quality of his features, however, remained. Harry didn't know how to react to the fact that he didn't dislike it at all, so he didn't.

The blond, seemingly unsatisfied by what he'd seen, flopped onto his overlarge bed with a frustrated huff. A pale hand (so much like the one Harry could still see fervently pumping his cock, everytime he closed his eyes) rose up to stroke at the smooth skin of Malfoy's tummy, fingers sliding languidly over the bumps and crevices created by the muscles there. His chest was flawless and unmarred by a certain collection of curse scars, to Harry's utmost relief. His nipples were rosy pink, and peaked as of now.

Malfoy's body gave a delicate shudder, and before Harry knew it, his towel was gone, putting gleaming ivory skin on display for the world to see. Or rather, just for Harry to see. And perhaps for the kinky spirits.

"In his free time, Young Mister Malfoy often finds himself toying with his secret journal," the spirit informed, and sure enough, Malfoy rolled over to the side of his bed to reach for a medium-sized black book.

"Shouldn't we be giving him some privacy? You know, for his, uh," Harry said most articulately while painfully aware that him ogling this man's arse unawares to him was the very opposite of allowing him privacy. Still, he watched as Malfoy spelled his book open, naked as the day he was born. His shoulder-blades jutted out nicely, and his broad back looked strong without taking the leanness away from his physique. Two perfect globes of arse rested below his pinched waist, and Harry wondered if they were as soft as they looked. He was loathe to admit to anyone that he wanted desperately to sink his teeth into the fleshy mounds of Malfoy's bubble-butt. No, he was going to be keeping that thought to himself, thanks.

The book finally fell open, voluminous pages fluttering and looking very much like there had to have been a good amount of wizard-space incorporated into the thing. Harry made to avert his eyes from it, he really did, but the sight of his own face smiling up at him from a page made him do a double take.

He hovered closer in disregard of his manners, and found exactly what he had subconsciously hoped for. Pictures of himself.

Photographs upon photographs, mostly wizarding, cut out from Daily Prophet articles, Witch Weekly covers and some others from Hogwarts that he honestly couldn't recognize littered the pages of Malfoy's journal. He turned them fast, as if looking for something, or perhaps hiding a secret. But Harry had seen far too much already.

There was him, glowering at the lens after his first night out drinking. There again, Harry found himself blinking into the flash of the camera in a sheepish manner, lips pressed close together in an awkward smile. Then there was one of those strange Hogwarts photos: taken from behind while photo-Harry scratched his head idly, unawares.

Malfoy was a complete stalker. This much was clear. Sure, most of the pictures were published for everyone to see, but it didn't make it any less... strange, or- Harry squeezed his eyes shut in frustration- arousing.

Surely this was not a normal reaction to have in case of one finding out he's got himself a stalker-- no matter how sexy of a man that stalker may be. Merlin.

'But he's not following me around and being a menace. And it's not like we don't know eachother already, so...'

Malfoy made a sudden noise in the back of his throat, and Harry's gaze jumped immediately to the cleft of his arse, now raised high in the air.

Malfoy's cock was half hard, and just the way he remembered it. Now a rich pink instead of dark red, it dangled between his legs ever so teasingly, twitching up and falling back down to point at the sheets every so often. There was the slight curve of his bollocks peeking out at Harry like the forbidden fruit, and he wanted nothing more than to nose along the delicate flesh of them. To press his lips to them and suck them into his mouth-

Belatedly, it occurred to him that Malfoy's cock twitched and quivered like an arrow at the sight of Harry's photos. _Harry's_. A small whimper escaped the blond and he rubbed himself against his pristine sheets, still turning pages rapidly.

Harry's never wanted someone more in his life. Not Cho, certainly not Ginny; never before had he wanted to taste every inch of a person's skin, touch every mound and dip of their flesh with his fingers and press himself bodily against their naked form. He wanted to suck Malfoy, and to bury himself to the hilt within him. Wanted to fuck him silly and sloppy and into incomprehension. Wanted to kiss, lick and bite at every bit of skin presented to him and make him shudder and cum like he'd done in the locker rooms away from everyone he knew.

It was a wonder Malfoy's secret had been able to stay as one for so long, and Harry wondered how their fates would have played out if he'd figured it out back then. Perhaps they would've had more than just their awkward non-greetings at Tesco.

Perhaps they'd be in bed together, studying eachother's skin like a pirate would, his map.

Offhandedly, he wondered if Malfoy had ever gotten hard from one of their supermarket run-ins. Hell, he probably had. However Harry would be able to face the blond in the dessert section henceforth, he did not know. 

"Aha!" Malfoy chirruped, seemingly having found what he'd been searching for. Harry peered over his shoulder, watching as the blond tugged on a red thing concealed in an envelope (the envelope, Harry recognized, was the one that he'd sent Malfoy's wand back in. The blunt blue scrawl that read 'To: Malfoy' was blotting a bit). 

Slowly, the red object furled free of its confines, and Malfoy tugged it out smoothly. It was long, thicker than paper, and as it slipped past the envelope Harry noticed it running red, gold, red, gold, red-

"Fucking hell, that's my bloody tie!" he gasped, turning wide eyes on the spirit as if to ask him, 'are you seeing this right now?'

Harry remembered clearly an instance where he'd mysteriously lost his tie after an impromptu football match with Dean and his friends. He'd discarded it on the stands along with his and the others' robes as it had been getting awfully uncomfortable to play in them, what with all the heat and the sweat. It had been the only article of clothing among the pile that had vanished, and he clearly remembers Malfoy gleefully removing an abhorrent number of house points from Gryffindor for 'breaking dress code'.

Harry moved to glare at the man for stealing his tie, but as per usual, his breath caught in his throat and his tongue ran dry at the sight Malfoy made. He'd managed to tie the garment around his wrists, effectively binding his arms behind his back. He sat on his haunches, his knees spread apart wide and his perfect bottom resting atop the pink heels of his bare feet. 

The gold of the tie was muddy, if anything, and the red had darkened to a dull bloodlike hue rather than the bright happy scarlet it had once been: a definite result of frequent, heavy handling with little washing. Oh god, Harry doubted Malfoy had ever bothered to wash the damned thing at all, filthy with sweat as it was when he'd 'lost' it. He recalled the blond's morbid fascination with his sweat and shuddered, parting his legs slightly as he hovered. He was not sporting erection for Malfoy's gross bodily fluid fetish. 

Slow, deep breaths filled the large chamber as Malfoy relaxed, tipping his head back to shake the platinum hair out of his face. His long fingers clenched and unclenched a few times before reaching for the wand he'd wisely kept close. 

"Accio," he murmured, without mentioning what exactly it was that he intended to summon. Harry soon realized he had no need to guess, for a distinctly phallic shaped thing zoomed into one of Malfoy's bound hands. He gasped at the size and girth of the toy, and shamefully found himself hoping the blond would put it inside of himself. 

The spirit chuckled, and Harry turned bleary eyes towards him. In truth, he'd forgotten about the entity's presence in the room entirely.

"So you see, Mister Potter, Mister Malfoy longs for you quite passionately, yet."

"Yeah, I... yeah," Harry ducked his head thoughtfully, "I don't see what I can do about it, though. I mean, I'm with Ginny," (he winced, both at the unwantedness of her memory and at the thought of using her as a scapegoat), "and Malfoy, he's... I don't know. I can't just drop in all of a sudden and-"

"Fuck, Potter, fuck me," came a throaty whisper, and Harry turned to him like whiplash just in time to catch the last few inches of the silicone cock sliding into Malfoy's hole.

"Oh, shit," Harry groaned, unable to help himself from cupping his own dick through his sleeping pants. Malfoy's neck was long and pale, arching back elegantly to reveal his throat. His fingers flinched again as he lifted his hips up off the toy slightly before sinking back down on it with a guttural moan.

Harry was sweating in places he had no idea he _could_ , watching Malfoy ride his dildo slowly and sensuously with his eyes draped shut. Tiny beads of sweat broke out on his torso and glittered in the firelight as his thighs quivered with strain and his cock bobbed and twitched for the sort of attention Harry wished he could give it.

Every once in a while, Malfoy cracked an eye open to take a peek at the book lying in front of him. It was open to a page bearing a single photo of Harry, looking over his shoulder with a tiny glare, his hair mussed and his face pink with irritation. "Gods, Potter, I'm so- wet. For you. Need, need you to-"

Harry wished more than anything right then, that he could swoop in and give Malfoy exactly what he wanted. And it was apparent that Malfoy wanted to get fucked. By Harry. It was rather alarming a thought to have, really, if unprepared:

'Malfoy loves getting his arse fucked. Malfoy loves riding dick. He's a dickrider. And the dick he wants to ride is yours-'

Without warning, Malfoy came. For as vocal as he was while masturbating, his climax came silently, eyes fluttering angelically, and his body shuddering and spasmimg in a beautiful sort of way. Thick white strings of cum painted his chest, as well as photo-Harry's glaring face, and it took Harry's all to keep from cumming, himself.

Malfoy panted deeply like he'd done after the fight from earlier, his body relaxing slowly and gradually as the tie came undone and the toy grew visibly more uncomfortable for him to sit on. He vanished it swiftly, and swished his wand again to rid himself and his book of bodily fluids.

With unbelievable care, Malfoy folded the tie up and slid it back into its envelope. his throat constricted and a dull ache bloomed to life in his chest as he looked into the blond's eyes, where he found barely concealed anguish- as well as burning shame.

He cast a pensive look at the glaring Harry in his journal before gingerly folding the thing shut, warding it heavily as Harry's world melted away.

His head hung low and the hand on his cock halted once he returned to his room. Malfoy looked so... ashamed. Not that Harry had no clue where he was coming from, but the dull throb of empathy in his chest had taken him by surprise. 

The only think he wanted to do was cup Malfoy's porcelain face between his palms and kiss his rosy lips till the expression on his face had gone away. Wanted to tell him everything was alright and that he was...

"Harry Potter."

He let out a lengthy sigh, Malfoy's face, like broken crystal, still swimming at the forefront of his mind. "The Ghost of Christmas Future," he acknowledged, turning around to find himself face to face with a large black dog- not nearly as friendly-looking as Sirius had been in his animagus form. This Spirit was closer in likeness to the Grim they had learnt about all those years ago in Divination.

"I'm assuming you're gonna show me the future?" he asked it, waiting in vain for a reply. He sighed again, "Not a talker, then. Fine, let's get this over with."

He wanted to see Malfoy again, he knew. The Grim probably knew. Hell, maybe all the Spirits of the Afterlife knew- but Harry wouldn't put it into words no matter the provocation.

The Grim did not lead him to the window. Instead, it simply stepped closer to him, and before he knew it he was jerking reflexively when, once again, he found himself transported to some unknown location in the blink of an eye. However, despite the momentary disorientation he was facing, he did not want to risk the consequences of grumbling about it to the Grim.

"Look," rumbled an ominous voice that seemed to vibrate right out of the Grim's larynx, for its dog-like mouth did not move an inch. Harry eyed the spirit wearily, but turned his head anyway. Truthfully, he'd been anticipating another insight into the ... illicit activities of Malfoy's private life. He was hence baffled at the sight of the rather modest-looking kitchen in front of him, not at all unlike the one at the Burrow.

In the center of the room sat a round table made of fair-coloured wood. A dozen wooden chairs stuck haphazardly out of it, one with a wobbly looking leg and another that did not match the rest of the furniture at all. Upon further inspection, Harry noticed a high chair sitting in the corner of the room. 

"What is this place?" Harry wondered aloud as he took in the sight of the kitchen faucet dripping water onto what seemed to be a mountain of dirty dishes. The floor was positively filthy with crumbs and sprinkles, aside from other things he couldn't identify, and the curtains that adorned the window overlooking the backyard were in dire need of a wash. 

The only thing Harry liked about the place was the fridge. Not the desolate white body of it (that was also in need of a scrub), but the drawings tacked onto it. Clearly the handicraft of one or several children, the colorful doodles were wonderfully nonsensical and reminded Harry of little Teddy.

"The day after Christmas," was all the information the Grim offered him. 

All of a sudden, he noticed the telltale flicker of wards being unlocked, and a  barrage of noise flooded into the house. 

"Alright, _alright_! Settle down, you lot!" exclaimed a voice, not unkindly, and Harry jolted as he recognized the sound of it.

The Muggle lights in the kitchen flickered on, bathing the room in the sort of fluorescent whiteness that you simply couldn't achieve with candles. He cringed at the crumbs on the floor that grew far more visible in the light, but was quickly rid of the emotion as the first little brown head toddled into the room.

There were seven or eight of them in total, all of different sizes, but the same childish excitement bubbling within them. Harry couldn't possibly study them all at the same time, however the children all had certain features that stood out to him. A happy girl with wild brown hair who was giggling up a storm; a slight ginger toddler whose gaze was heavy with sleep, likely due to a belated afternoon nap; a young girl who looked intelligent, and held herself with purpose- but whose eyes sparkled with joy. All members of the rowdy band of children heaved themselves up into the waiting chairs, watching the door expectantly for the adult who was bound to arrive any moment. Harry suspected she was a certain redhead he knew.

However, instead of Ginny, in toppled a lanky teenager with a shock of blue hair on his head. The poor fellow had tripped over seemingly nothing at all, and that was when Harry knew that this was none other than his Teddy.

A major downside to these visions was that Harry simply never had enough time to process one bit of information before another barged right in to smack him in the face. This fact was proved rather well when, just as he was starting to process the emotional significance of seeing Teddy all grown up, Ginny walked in.

If it weren't for the cherubic infant dozing away beautifully in her arms, Harry would have shrieked at the sight she made.

Ginny looked nothing like the fiery girl she was in the present. Neither did she look like Molly, aged but full of love, and life. She simply looked- defeated.

Her hair, no longer even close to flaming red, hung from her head in thin, carroty strings. Frown lines marred her face instead of smile ones, and the bags under her eyes were smudged black- whether from fatigue or makeup, Harry didn't know.

The worst part was her eyes: the chocolatey brownness of them long gone and replaced by a murky umber devoid of brightness. The horrible lights did nothing to help, only managing to make her skin look pasty rather than fair, the freckles standing out like a blood splatter on the bridge of her nose.

Harry accepted the fact that Ginny had been annoying him lately, that he no longer found something he longed for within her. But she was a wonder in her own right, albeit, not for him.

This version of her, however, only made him feel sad. It made him wonder what had done this to her.

He hoped it wasn't him.

The Grim made a noise that sounded like a laugh. Harry ignored it, looking away from Ginny when it began to grow unbearable, and laid his eyes upon Teddy instead. However, that too, felt strange and forbidden, so he opted instead to stare fixedly at the unknown ginger boy who had now fallen asleep on the table.

Teddy rushed over to pry the baby out of Ginny's arms and took her into his own. The smile that she gave him in return looked more like a grimace than anything Harry had ever seen.

"Is Harry home?"

It was Ginny who asked this, her voice sounding exactly the way she looked: exhausted and reluctant. The mention of his name made Harry's heart leap into his throat, before it plummeted to his stomach at the sad shake of Teddy's head.

"No sign of 'im," he told her as he nestled the baby's head into the crook of his neck. His tone was pitiful, and Ginny's back was stiff as she summoned the plates.

A suffocating fear took over Harry's senses. "I'm not," he stammered at the Grim. Cleared his throat. Tried again, "I'm not a complete bastard in the future, am I?"

The Grim only laughed that horrible laugh again, and did not elaborate any further.

The scene began to speed up like the very first one had, when he'd fought with Malfoy. Harry watched as the children laughed and chattered along with Teddy, while they sped through appetizers, pasta and started on dessert. None of Ginny's smiles reached her eyes, and future-Harry never came.

'At least most of my family is happy,' Harry consoled himself.

"...not yours," the Grim rumbled, and Harry froze.

"W- what?" Harry asked it, because this spirit was a total arsewipe, and he wouldn't put it past him to have read his thoughts only to make a scathing remark.

"Not your children. Only two."

Harry's jaw dropped open in shock. He scanned the room again, in a whole new light. Every child bore some resemblance to him or Ginny in colouring, he reckoned, but it was true that none could truly and surely be identified as his. 

"Which... ones?" Harry asked, and perhaps the Grim had taken pity on him, because he answered him without preamble.

"The babe," it said, addressing the infant in Teddy's arms, "and..."

The Grim did not speak for a long while. Just as he was starting to get impatient, Harry realized the spirit was looking at the single mismatched chair that stood empty.

Before Harry could try and get his head around it, the wards shimmered again.

Ginny stood up with a huff and stalked out the door. Harry would have greatly preferred to stay in the kitchen with the children, but the Grim pulled him along to the entryway where Ginny stood sternly with her arms crossed.

The door opened softly, and in walked future-Harry.

If anything, future-Harry looked even worse than Ginny did. His face was almost skeletal with fatigue, and the deep purple rings under his eyes rivalled his wife's with fervour.

Harry had never paid rapt attention to his own eyes (for it seemed like a fickle, Malfoyish thing to do), but even to him, they seemed unusually void of life.

"Hey... Gin," he greeted mildly, before averting those dead, dead eyes of his. They swam with guilt.

"Don't you 'hey Gin' me," Ginny said softly, dangerously, "Where the hell have you been?"

"I had to work overtime," future-Harry retorted, his tone slow and firm, as if he were speaking with one of the young children in the next room. The unspoken 'obviously' rung in the silence between his words, "being Head Auror isn't easy work."

Harry expected to have felt something, anything at all, at the knowledge of having been promoted to such a high rank in the corps. The desolate state of his prophesied private life however, prevented him from such thoughts.

"Fuck you," Ginny said acidly, but softly enough for only future-Harry to hear. Harry wished she were yelling instead, "that's what you always say. You missed Christmas Eve dinner. You missed _Christmas_ dinner-"

"Ginny, please," future-Harry said with a sigh that seemed like it had taken his soul with it on the way out, "not now."

"Then-"

"Uncle Harry-y-y-y-y!" came an excited cry, followed by the sounds of tiny feet bounding down the hall.

"Rosie!" future-Harry exclaimed with a wide grin. Unlike Ginny's, his smile lit up his eyes and transformed his haggard face into something presentable. He grabbed hold of Rosie and tossed her up in the air, revelling in the excited shriek she let out.

Harry did not allow himself to get his hopes up at the brief display of love and wellness in this dystopian household. Rightfully so, it seemed, because Teddy was standing at the kitchen door, the baby still in his arms and an anxious look on his face. Harry was sure his godson had had to take matters into his own hands and had sent little Rosie down to break the argument up.

"He shouldn't have to do that," Harry growled through his teeth, suddenly very angry at Harry and Ginny from the future, "he should have this time to be a kid, not to be more of an adult than either of-" 'them', he'd wanted to say, but swallowed thickly instead, "us has been."

The Grim, predictably, did not respond.

They moved back into the kitchen where the children, recharged from their sugary desserts, all pounced upon future-Harry with vigour. Teddy hugged him, and passed him the baby.

He kissed her head, and tucked the pink blanket more securely around her body.

"Hey there, Lily."

Harry's throat closed up with emotion, as well as pure _want_. He wanted that for himself, he wanted it.

Just not like this.

Future-Harry sighed, and turned his gaze towards the empty, mismatched chair. A million ideas whizzed through Harry's head about what could have happened to its occupant, the second child. None were pleasant thoughts.

"Where's Al?" future-Harry asked slowly. Harry caught Teddy shaking his head in the background.

"You know where he is," Ginny replied, her voice thick with bitterness. Future-Harry did not look surprised.

"I want to leave," Harry whispered to the Grim, desperately. He felt sick here, it was all wrong.

The Grim would have rolled its eyes if it could. Instead, it put on an expression of great disdain- for a dog, anyway- and the scene began to swirl.

"I want to go where Al is," Harry told it, and the swirling stopped immediately.

"Impatient," the Grim commented.

Harry glared at it and turned to face the scene. Upon seeing it, however, he swore.

They were still with future-Harry and Ginny. This time in a dim bedroom, which was thankfully much cleaner than the disgusting kitchen.

In dark brown and beige colors, however, it was still very drab as far as interior design went. He found himself thinking about Malfoy's stylish flat in London, where he'd seen him ride a dildo with Harry in mind. It felt like ages had passed since he'd seen that particular vision.

Suddenly, he realized just how strongly he wished he were with Malfoy instead right now.

"Do you know how tiring it is, looking after eight kids on your own?" Ginny asked her husband, muddy eyes full of poison as she glared at him.

"They're a perfect delight," future-Harry said, and shrunk in the face of her renewed fury, "I mean, they are. If I didn't have work, I'd be very happy to look after them instead. But you _know_ how it is for me, Gin."

"It's always big Auror Potter for you, isn't it? Too high and mighty to bend down and spend time with his insignificant little family?"

Ginny's expression was so ugly, so hurtful, that Harry had to look away from her. His eyes fell upon Lily, napping blissfully in her crib with a silencing charm shimmering around her. He wished dearly to pick her up and take her far, far away from here.

"You don't mean that," future-Harry said placatingly, but the hurt was written plainly all over his face.

"I don't _mean_ that?" Ginny's voice rose incredulously, "How else would you explain constantly being away? Ron's an Auror too, but where is he right now? Oh yes! Vacationing in Greece with his wife while the kids stay with me!"

"But if Ron and Hermione are out," future-Harry explained calmly, "and Bill and Fleur are out, and George and Angie are out, and _you and I_ are out too, who's going to look after anyone's kids?"

Harry sighs. The sound was drowned beneath Ginny's sarcastic bark of laughter.

"Oh, I don't know! The rest of them can figure their own kids out, but you know _your_ son is practically living with that Slytherin whore anyway!"

Future-Harry's head snapped up the second the word 'whore' started to form on Ginny's lips. His eyes came alive, even more than they had around the kids, but with plain fury instead of a smile.

His jaw flexed as he prepared to snap a retort at her-

And the vision faded away.

"What?" Harry blinked twice, so invested was he in the vision that he hadn't fully escaped it yet.

The Grim remained looking at him expectantly.

"Well," Harry furrowed his brows and scratched the back of his neck, "who was-" his eyes widened, "did she mean-"

The world around him exploded into whiteness.

Harry bit back a scream, squinting into the light as it slowly faded down into something more bearable.

He came to his senses in another bedroom. Before Harry could analyze his surroundings, however, he caught sight of Malfoy and knew immediately that all else was nil compared to him. 

Floating closer to the blond, Harry studied him. Malfoy lay on the right side of his bed, while the left remained occupied by a lump that Harry had to force himself not to feel jealous of. After all, his own choices were the ones to land them in their respective situations. Future-Harry, with his loveless marriage, his all-consuming job and his absent son. Ginny, with the same lack of love, and a bitterness that had seeped into her blood itself. And Malfoy, with this-

What?

Had Malfoy gotten over his obsession with Harry? Had he, perhaps, moved on to the spouse sleeping next to him in bed. 

Harry did not know, as he watched Malfoy simply breathing. He had the covers tucked all the way up to his chin as if he were very cold. Eyes closed, Malfoy's alabaster lashes curved beautifully over the pale skin of his cheekbone. The years had treated him far better than they had done Harry and Ginny, for he had not one blemish, not a hair out of place and no eye bags to speak of. 

"Mmmm that was amazing, dear," mumbled a gruff voice from under the covers. Harry clenched his teeth at the man, even as the Grim laughed itself silly next to him. 

Malfoy's eyes fluttered open at last, and what Harry saw in them, or lack thereof, made him reconsider some of his earlier comments. 

Malfoy may not have turned ugly, his hair may have stayed that beautiful shiny blond and his skin may have been clear as a baby's behind- but his eyes were nothing more than two dark holes drilled into his skull. 

Gunmetal grey irises turned languidly towards the lump next to him and Malfoy blinked once- so slowly that it came out looking truly terrifying. He then did it again. 

"Yeah," he said, closing his eyes again in that same eerie way. 

Harry shivered as he stared at Malfoy's relaxed face. Wondered what had happened to leave him so hollow. 

Slowly as ever, Malfoy opened his eyes again and slid out of bed. He was completely naked, which did not come as so much of a surprise to Harry as it irked him. It meant Malfoy and his amazing talking lump had had sex together. 

It made Harry more upset than he had anticipated. 

"I'll be taking a walk, dear," Malfoy said as he was pulling on a light dressing robe. He paused, "Terence." he said firmly, and was met with a grunt, "I am going out for a walk inside the manor. Sleep alone for a bit."

Malfoy's spouse clearly did not care for the fact, as he just kept on snoring. Harry grit his teeth to the point where they hurt. 

Malfoy deserved better. 

The remainder of his thought remained unspoken as he and the Grim floated behind Malfoy during his walk. 

The blond looked more or less the same. Older, yes, but in a refined sort of way. His hair was parted smartly to the side, and the creepy blankness of his eyes somehow helped enhance his features. 

Strangely, this felt more perverse to Harry than watching the man bugger himself to climax. Following a sleep-softened (or perhaps post coital) Malfoy as he padded barefoot through his own home seemed very personal, for some reason. 

"Oh-h-h-h, that's it. That's it, baby, let me- let me see you-" 

The outburst was muffled, but very audible in the silence of the manor. Harry swivelled around Malfoy to catch his expression, but he seemed to know exactly what he was doing, standing stationary in front of a door as he was. 

"Mmm, yes- oh, you know exactly what to do with those hands, don't you, you naughty little thing? Play with yourself all the time do you, hmm? Do you think of me when you do it, Al?"

There was that name again, Al. Harry flushed, looking carefully into Malfoy's face to find any clues. He was certain the 'Slytherin whore' Ginny had spoken of was Malfoy, but now that he had confirmed it, he was twice as upset with her. 

Malfoy raised his hand languidly, and rapped on the doorframe twice. The noises stopped in the split second before Malfoy tugged the door open. 

Inside the room, on one large bed lay two teenagers: one with golden blond hair that curled at the edges, the other with bright green eyes. 

Malfoy's son looked almost exactly like him, the only differences being his hair and the way his nose turned up instead of going straight down in a slim stroke like his father's. He had the same eyes, the same pointy chin, and the same little twist to the corner of his mouth that made him look like he were about to say something nasty even if he really wasn't. 

Harry's son- _Harry's son_!- however, was almost a spitting image of Harry, just as Harry was nearly identical to his own late father. His hair was ridiculously messy, and his green eyes were currently wide open and on high alert. Certainly, getting caught in the act by your boyfriend's dad would do that to you, not that Harry would know. 

He tried to think of how it would be, if he and Malfoy were eachother's boyfriend in the present day. He imagined them doing normal, boyfriendly things, like getting caught by a parent without it being a nil operation on Harry's end, or Lucius Malfoy and the possible risk of a stray Cruciatus on Malfoy's. 

"Father," Malfoy's son said with impressive bravado, "good evening! You seem to be up quite late on this fine night."

Albus chose not to say anything at all. Harry drank in the sight of him, the button nose he'd inherited from Ginny and the light freckles scattered across it. 

"I do, quite," Malfoy agreed softly. His eyes darted back and forth between the two boys, rapid and calculative. Harry did not know what the point was, as not only had he heard them, but Albus' chest was completely bare. 

He finally stopped however, and looked at his son, eyes growing warm, "Alright then, Scorpius. Albus. Good night."

He shut the door almost all the way, and whispered at the last second, "and make sure you are using protection. Albus' mother would have my head as well as my bollocks on a pike if you turned up pregnant."

Wails of mortification sounded from the other side of the closed door and Malfoy's face bore a tiny half smile. Harry had still been laughing from Malfoy's comment, before he realized it was definitely more literal than it had sounded. 

The blond then quickened his pace, walking briskly into a room that looked to be a study of some sort. After a lingering look at his wand, he cast a silencing spell and a locking charm at the door in quick succession. Harry's cock had certainly recognized that particular combination of spells, and began its rise to attention. 

Malfoy glanced around the room nervously, as if waiting for someone to pop out and yell ‘aha! I've caught you!’ and when no one did, he shut his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath- much like he had done at his London flat. 

After that, he pulled his robe loose and let it drop to the floor beneath him. Harry's eyes strayed over to him and stuck, like bees to a flower. 

Malfoy was still just as beautiful as he had been before, turning around and walking towards a great mahogany desk at the back of the room. His arse moved wonderfully as he did, completely in the nude as he was, and drew Harry's eyes to it inevitably-- even when he sat the pretty thing down, bare onto the leather of his desk chair. 

Harry had never seen Malfoy's cock in a properly flaccid state before now, and he had to admit even that was pretty. It had a certain heaviness to it that looked lovely in light pink against his ivory skin. 

Malfoy muttered with his eyes closed, as if he were saying Grace before a meal. Then, he reached into a drawer. 

Harry wasn't surprised when he saw the black book. Rather, he was relieved. It made him feel like a horrid bastard of a person for daring to think that way, but the truth was that he was glad. 

Glad that Malfoy had chosen to love him, in his own twisted way, till their hourglasses would come to a still.

His silver eyes sparked with anticipation as he undid the heavy wards he'd placed on the journal. Harry noticed that the wand movements had changed, as well as increased in number since last time. Harry noticed, for the first time, the faded grey twist of Malfoy's Dark Mark lying on his forearm. 

Malfoy looked significantly more skittish as he flipped through the journal now, fingers jittering as he flew past every page adorned with Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry. Like an amateur criminal in the act, his eyes kept darting to the door, the walls and the vast bookcase before returning to his twisted masterpiece of a picture book. 

"Fuck," he sighed when he finally reached his desired page. Demeanour relaxing almost immediately upon encountering the item, Malfoy carefully tugged out a tiny green bundle of cloth and enlarged it using his wand. 

It was a men's shirt- a rather nice one, in fact- with simple threadwork around the collar and cuffs that dressed it up significantly. Harry did not recognize it at all, but he reckoned it was something he'd like to wear, even if he couldn’t possibly imagine future-Harry wearing a shirt as nice as that. 

Bringing it close to his face with steady hands, Malfoy shut his eyes and inhaled its scent deeply. While exhaling, Harry thought he saw his delicate eyelids flutter. The blonde's body twitched almost imperceptibly, unlike his cock, which gave a hard jerk upwards at the indirect stimulation. 

Cursing softly and repeatedly, Malfoy peeked at the door again before jostling his arms into the sleeves of the silky garment. A sticky noise sounded from him briefly separating his bare arse from the leather upholstery, smoothing the overlong shirt over his buttocks and under the tops of his thighs. 

While he fiddled with the buttons of the shirt, Malfoy propped his bare feet up on his fancy table, allowing Harry a clear view of the cock and balls between his long legs. As well as the lovely little hole underneath. 

Merlin, he wanted to fuck him. 

A pale hand rose languidly upwards to touch Malfoy's lips. He brought his tongue out and licked at his two extended fingers, then added a third, and finally stuck the threesome into the heat of his mouth. 

Throwing caution to the wind, Harry shoved his palm down his pyjama pants and gripped his cock firmly, the Grim be damned. Malfoy was made obscene noises in the back of his throat as he sucked on his fingers, eyes closed and legs spread apart on the desk-top. 

This being the third time Harry had attempted to get himself off to vision-Malfoy, he had no qualms about how hard or how fast he thrusted into the tight circle of his fist. Not when Malfoy was using his free hand to rub at his knob through the silk of future-Harry's shirt. 

"Can't you just-" Malfoy choked out, removing his hand from his mouth and reaching down towards his arsehole with it, "touch me, Potter? Please? Pleasepleaseplease-?"

"Yes," Harry replied as well as he could, through his throat that seemed to have closed up on itself, "I'll do anything you want. Anything you'd like."

"Want you-" index and middle fingers disappeared into the no doubt velvety warmth that was Malfoy's hole, "I won't- won't tell. I won't ever tell anyone, ever. Promise. Just- please, Potter."

Harry did not tell him that he didn't mind at all. That he'd rather have it shouted from the rooftops and printed in the tabloids: that Harry Potter was completely gone for Draco Malfoy, and that he liked it. That he liked feeling like this: wanting something so desperately; something he practically already had, but was just barely out of reach. 

With a frustrated moan, Malfoy shucked the fabric off of his cock, enfolding the appendage in his left fist. His right, meanwhile, was stretched out over the cleft between his thighs, a third finger now wriggling its way into his impossibly tight hole. 

"Put it in me," he whispered rather loudly, bucking his hips up into his fist and sticking his fingers deep into his arse. 

He must have touched his sweet spot, because Malfoy suddenly jerked hard, eyes rolling back into his skull and lips curving up into a dopey little smile. "Oooooh-" he groaned, looking- odd as it was- adorably happy, "right there."

"Merlin," Malfoy but his lip, pale brows creasing hard while he squeezed away at his cock, fingers pumping at a furious pace as his legs began to tremble oh-so-delicately. 

"Fuck me, Potter," he said, his head lolling to the side. Harry watched as beads of sweat collected on Malfoy's top lip. He marvelled in the way his pink toes curled, and his hips began to jutter. 

When silver eyes shot open and his body seized up in orgasm, Harry felt the building heat in his own loins erupt out of the tip of his cock. 

He shuddered at the force of it, barely able to keep his eyes open long enough to watch the thick, seemingly endless ropes of Malfoy's cum spurt onto the lovely green shirt he had on. Never heard the way he sighed after he'd come down from his high, lonely once again without his imaginary lover. Never noticed the way the world around him swirled into darkness.

When Harry came to, it was bright outside. 

A quick tempus charm told him it was still too early an hour for human wakefulness, but sleep was the last thing on Harry's mind what with Malfoy taking up all that space up there. 

Heaving a deep breath, he swung his legs off the side of the bed and planted his feet resolutely into the softness of the rug on the floor (determinedly ignoring the telling white stain on the rug). He raised his eyes to the window through which wan sunlight filtered in. 

He knew what he had to do today. 

Harry's stomach grumbled and he decided that a bit of breakfast beforehand would do.

Being physically present before the polished glass doors to Malfoy's apartment complex was decidedly different from floating about it in his dreams. No doubt, it was a Wizarding building, if the obvious tingle of ward-magic was anything to go by. 

Harry walked through the doors and into the handsomely furnished lobby, feeling awkward. The dark gleaming floors were polished to a shine, the walls were ornately decorated and there was a sizeable aquarium along the wall that housed several species of colourful magical fish. 

A professional rosewood reception desk sat close to the lifts, adding a rather hotel-like touch to the whole place. The clerk sitting at it was the only aspect of the room, so far, that had not served to make Harry even more nervous than he'd already been. The fellow had a rounded, cheerful looking face and big, bright eyes. 

"Good morning, Sir!" he greeted with a bright smile, upon catching Harry's eye, "If I could have your name, and the name of the resident you will be visiting today?"

"Er, yes, hello," Harry stammered, and winced at himself, "Harry Potter, here to see... umm, Draco Malfoy?"

It wasn't until now that he realized how farfetched his mission truly was. The oddity of saying the blond's first name aloud was, in itself, a massive wake-up call what with how foreign it tasted on his tongue. It didn't matter that he'd wanted to mouth the syllables of Malfoy's name again and again in his days to come: till saying it felt like coming home- oh, damn it all. He'd never so much as spoken the man's _name_ before. Who was to say he'd be welcomed into Malfoy's home with open arms after years of near anonymity? 

Harry had been putting far too much trust into last night's 'visions' as well, he realised, because what were the odds of Malfoy having major hots for him all this time? The whole fiasco was becoming suddenly ludicrous. 

Unfortunately, it was too late, because the time it had taken for Harry to come to his sudden awakening was enough for the clerk boy to finish gushing over the great Harry Potter's presence. In fact, he'd already rung Malfoy up on the Wizarding intercom, and was chirping a jolly "good morning, Mr. Malfoy!" into the magical connection. 

Harry's feet, predictably, went cold. 

" _Uggh_ , morning indeed, Jacobson," came the slight sound of Malfoy's rumbling voice, heavy with sleep. Shamefully, the blond's gravelly tone shot straight down to Harry's errant cock, which gave an enthusiastic twitch at the return of its new favourite person. "Good, however, it is not," Malfoy continued, "pray tell me: for what reason have you decided to rouse me at the ungodly hour of... eight?"

(In Harry's defense, it was now eight thirty, a far cry from the far less godly six o' clock, which was when he himself had woken up. Containing himself had proved to be increasingly difficult in the hours that followed).

"Apologies, Mr. Malfoy," Jacobson, as the clerk was called, told him in a wholly unapologetic way, "but Mr. Harry Potter has come to visit you, and it's only standard procedure for me to inform you of such matters beforehand."

"Alright," Malfoy grumbled nonchalantly. All was silent for two whole beats, before the blond practically screeched into the phone, "HOLD ON, YOU SAID _WHO_ CAME FOR A VISIT?!"

"Mr. Harry Potter, Sir."

"Fuck!" 

With an air of finality, the connection fizzled out, taking Harry's heart with it. Dejected, he scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the mirror-like surface of the floor. 

"I'll just-" he looked up at Jacobson, and quickly looked back down again, "I'll just leave."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mister," Jacobson apologised, this time actually looking the part, "oh, before you leave, would you mind terribly if I asked for your auto-"

"Bollocks!" Malfoy's voice returned with a boom, and Harry perked up to listen to it. The man was panting like he'd returned from a jog outdoors, "I forgot to tell the bloody man to let him- shut up!- let him up, Jacobson- I told you already, it meant nothing! Take your bloody stuff and shove it up your-!"

Harry, oblivious to the blond's apparent dilemma, grinned at the clerk like an overexcited puppy. 

"It seems you are in luck after all, Mr. Potter," he smiled back, "that will be penthouse number sixteen, Sir."

It had taken Harry a disorienting lift ride and a steadying countdown from ten to arrive at Malfoy's door. 

A polished serpentine door handle glinted ominously up at him, and Harry barely spared it an apprehensive glance before ringing the doorbell. 

A crisp 'ding-dong' sounded from within the house, and how even that had managed to sound expensive was entirely a mystery to Harry. 

"Cor, he's here. Out! Get out! I've told you a million times already and you are starting to get on my nerves!"

That was Malfoy, in a tone amazingly similar to that which he used to take on at Hogwarts whilst saying nasty things about Harry's mum. 

"I'm leaving! Merlin, get your knickers out of that massive twist," a deep, unknown voice responded. 

"No, not-"

The door flew open. 

"-that way!"

Harry blinked, very calmly, up at a ridiculously chiselled man. Said man had blue eyes, and dark hair that curled at the edges like Scorpius'. His nose was slightly upturned. 

He also had his shirt off. 

"Hullo," Harry greeted, trying and failing to keep the acidity out of his tone. 

"Cheers," the man nodded, before he was pushed rudely out of the way by a rather dishevelled Malfoy. 

"Higgs, out," Malfoy bit out, glaring the tall man down, somehow, despite being the shortest of the trio. 

"I'm _leaving_ , Draco, Jesus. Back to 'Higgs' now?"

"Terence, Higgs, whatever- leave my house and allow me to attend to my guest."

"Stingy as all hell, that one. Eh Potter?" Higgs shot a suggestive grin towards Harry, but deflated immediately in the face of the sour glare he was met with, "Right then."

Malfoy's future spouse hurried off to the lift. Harry vowed not to let that idiot near the blond ever again- much less to become his husband. Silently, he offered an apology to the Scorpius who would never come to be- as long as he had a say in it. 

"Potter," Malfoy said after a moment of silence that had probably been far longer than just a moment, "do come in."

Harry could only nod as he stepped into Malfoy's home and closed the door behind himself. The decor of the place was, as he vaguely noted, similar to the bedroom he'd seen last night. Of course, he could have made a more accurate comparison if he weren't too busy studying the way the silky fabric of Malfoy's robe had moulded itself to the cleft of his pert arse. 

This might be difficult. 

He was led to a sitting room furnished in pleasantly cool blue tones. Malfoy gestured towards the sofas, silently offering Harry a seat, which he took. Malfoy sat on a loveseat towards his right, before gazing resolutely out of the large glass doors that brought sunlight into the room. 

"So, Potter," Malfoy said conversationally, crossing a bare leg over the other and thus, throwing Harry's mind completely off topic, "to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Uh," Harry said articulately, before giving himself a mental shake. No, for this, he'd have to turn his charm up to 70. (He'd have turned it up to a hundred but unfortunately, he doubted it could possibly go that high. Harry's charm was inconveniently limited to an estimated level of 72.)

"Just wanted to catch up with you," he smiled at the blond, who raised a delicate eyebrow. 

"I... see," he said, very slowly. For a bloke who was pulling himself off to newspaper clippings of him each night, he was doing a damn good job of acting high and mighty. 

"I'm sorry if I interrupted you and your... friend earlier," Harry said, untruthfully of course, while barely managing to keep the bitterness out of his tone. 

"You did not," Malfoy said nonchalantly, and began to pick at the fabric of his sofa with nimble fingers. His feet were bare again, and his toes were a delightful shade of baby pink. 

"Who was it?" Harry asked. 

"Old housemate... he was one of our Chasers up until Fourth year, which was when he graduated. The quality of our team grew exponentially from then onwards," he explained in his usual bored drawl. Harry knew Malfoy just well enough to be able to tell he was being purposefully evasive, however. The visible wiggling of his toes was a dead giveaway. 

"Uh huh... so Quidditch, right?" Harry settled back in his seat, crossing his legs to mimic the way Malfoy was seated, "Reminds me of some good times... beating you, that is."

Malfoy snorted delicately, "How perfectly crass of you, Potter."

A tea set appeared on the coffee table in front of them with a slight clatter that made Harry jump. He was getting really sick of things suddenly appearing out of nowhere. 

Malfoy only raised one of his- and Harry didn't want to think of them like this, but it was true- perfect pale eyebrows, and leaned forwards in his seat. 

Harry's heart stuttered for an honest moment, before he realized the blond was only reaching out to customize his tea. Not to say 'blast it' to self control and snatch the other man away so he could have his wicked way with him. No, if Draco Malfoy could spend Merlin knows how long into the future secretly lusting over Harry, he could surely bear to control himself in front of him right now.

"Any sugar? Milk?" Malfoy inquired, and Harry noted carefully the way his fingers hovered over the creamer before he’d even agreed. 

"A splash of milk will do," he replied, and watched as the other man's hand resumed its designated path toward the tiny vessel of milk. His pinky retained a delicate curl while he poured precisely the amount of milk Harry wanted, and stayed that way when he passed him the cup. 

And of course- of _course_ their fingers had to touch right then. There were no errant sparks of electricity, Harry noted, but the part of his hand that had met with Malfoy's seemed to retain the lingering ghost of his touch for several moments afterward. 

"Thanks," Harry muttered, and while his companion did not respond, he'd seen his grey eyes flicker to his face and away again before he nodded. 

“There was this one time..." he said as Malfoy sipped his own drink. The blond spared him a glance, tipping his cup once it touched his lips, "You lost to me, and we'd had a scuffle outside the locker rooms. Do you remember that?"

The blonde finished swallowing his sip, and very gently put his cup down on the table. To his credit, he had barely reacted. 

There was a certain refinedness to the way he behaved. The way he moved, and spoke, and even how he looked. Of course, Harry had always known this; he had chalked it up to his snobbish upbringing, and it had made him want to do horrible things to him. While that may still be true, the impolite feelings they invoked within him now were of a completely different nature. 

"What," the blond said softly, and in a tone far too calm to be genuine, "exactly have you come here to discuss with me, Potter?"

His nerves on high alert, Harry sat up in his seat, eyes trained on Malfoy, and only Malfoy. Tepid silver eyed stared back at him, but his foot was jiggling in a most uncharacteristic way and that was all Harry needed to see. 

Slowly, he raised himself off the sofa and began stalking over to Malfoy. The blond sat rigid, except for his frantic foot, hands clasped gently. The milky white skin of his collar peeked out over the neckline of his robe, bones visible, but not skeletal. 

"I know what you did that day, Malfoy," Harry allowed himself to smirk down at the other man, "I know exactly what you did in the Slytherin locker room."

He bent down, bracing himself against the back of the loveseat and thus effectively trapping Malfoy in place. Malfoy, who had gone especially rigid, a sliver of fear breaking through the cool barrier of his gaze, could only stare back at him. 

"I know exactly who you were thinking of when you did whatever it was that you had done," Harry continued, raising his knees and planting them on the edge of the seat, one after the other until he was straddling Malfoy. He'd stopped breathing, his face an inch away from his own. 

It's not like Harry wasn't nervous. He was dead terrified of being wrong, of finding out that last night's visions had been nothing but mere dreams, or latent fantasies he hadn't even known he could have. However, Harry was a Gryffindor, and charging into difficult matters head first was basically his life motto. 

And if he could kiss Malfoy right then, even if the man hexed him, hit him, cussed him out and tossed him out on his arse afterwards- he'd be alright. 

"I know exactly where my tie went after that football match, and I know all about your little black book filled with paper secrets," he told him, "I know what you did in your room last night, I know you're not planning on stopping anytime soon

"And I know," Harry leaned very close, close enough to feel Malfoy's breath on his lips and the heat of his bare chest through his tee shirt, "what you're thinking about right now."

"What?" the blond whispered, a tortured, raspy little noise that barely carried over to his ears. 

Harry kissed Draco.   
  
He moaned loudly when their lips touched, his body quivering under Harry's as he scrambled to get his arms around him. 

"Potter, Potter-!" he gasped, before Harry covered his mouth with his own again. Draco's lips were softer than they looked, and better than Harry could have ever imagined. The slope of his nose fit wonderfully with Harry's, and the sharp jut of his chin against his own was nowhere near enough to distract Harry from the wonderful warmth of Draco's mouth. 

Draco's palms were splayed firmly over his back, fingers spread wide so as to feel as much of the brunet as he possibly could. They trembled, and Harry smoothed his own arms over the side of his neck, the line of his shoulders and the silk of his flaxen hair. Over and over and over again. 

"Merlin," Draco gasped, drawing away from him once again. Grey eyes were blown wide with lust, and they bored into Harry intensively, drinking in every detail of his face with the fervour of a man stranded in the dessert. His large, warm palms rubbed wide circles into the small of Harry's back- searching, feeling- and after a moment of that, his eyelids fluttered shut. "Merlin," he whispered again, like a prayer. 

It did not take Draco long to recover. Decisively pushing Harry off his lap, he stood up, turned and walked off briskly down the hallway. 

Harry could only stare after the man, jaw dropping slowly open in confusion. He felt the beast in his chest rage and claw at the walls of the Draco-shaped hole it resided in. The loss of the blond's pliant body was doing wonders for no one, clearly. 

Unable to wait a second longer for his arrival, Harry decided against calling out to Draco and made to speed down the hallway himself. 

There was no time to appreciate the tasteful decor of the penthouse as the brunet tried his best to find Draco as quickly as possible. He would have called out to him, but he had a feeling he'd have to do this himself. 

It was by a small miracle that the second door he tried turned out to be the one he'd been looking for: Draco's bedroom. And miracle indeed- for Harry could never dream of being presented with the sight that lay before him. 

Draco was on his knees atop his bed, face buried in the mattress. The silk dressing robe had been hiked up, over the gorgeous curve of his lower back and three pale fingers were buried to the hilt in his arsehole. 

"Fucking hell," Harry said, in what could only be described as a sigh. 

"Is- this what you saw, Potter?" his voice sounded high and strained. Draco's long, slender thighs quivered when he twisted his fingers inside himself, "See me- f-f-uck myself silly? Does that turn you on?"

"Yes," he replied, walking over to the blond. His eyes flickered from arse, to legs, and back to arse. It was hell on earth, heaven in the flesh. Harry could only let out a shuddering breath, "fuck, yes."

Rich sheets crinkled under the blond’s knees. Nearly all the pillows on the left side of the bed lay akimbo on the carpeted floor, a lone large one serving as a nest for Draco’s disheveled blond head. He looked magnificent spread out like that- all pale limbs over dark cloth.

Gingerly, Harry trudged forward. He could see Draco peeking at him over his shoulder, his breaths coming fast and heavy as he scissored long fingers into his pretty pink arsehole. 

“Tell me you want me-” he panted. His voice was a serenade of highs and lows, climbing to its peak every time he managed successfully to touch his prostate, “tell me- what you want to do with me. I’ve been so- awfully naughty, haven't I Potter?”

Harry’s throat had already gone completely dry several moments ago. He gulped, and reached out a hand, loosely circling Draco's working wrist in his palm. 

It stilled obediently, and Harry allowed himself to marvel in the differences between them. The coarse dark hairs on Harry’s knuckles versus the pale creaminess of Draco’s strong, but bony wrist, spattered with translucent blond hair. Two of his fingers remained, unmoving within the pucker of his sphincter. A third, however- his ring finger- had slipped out of the slick opening, and rested passively against a smooth buttock. 

All three fingers were adorned with big, bejewelled rings, slick and shiny with lubricant. 

Draco’s breaths came heavy, “Potter- _fuck_! Just do something!”

Harry did, do something, that is. Bending over Malfoy’s sweet arsehole, he pried his fingers out of it and lowered his mouth instead. 

Then, he spit. 

The glob of spittle fell on its target with a nasty _thwack_. Harry watched with morbid fascintion as the white, bubbling saliva dribbled slowly into the dark pink depths of Draco’s hole. The blond keened loudly, back arching and arse thrusting upwards. Harry watched his saliva roll faster into his opening and felt himself grow harder than he'd ever been in his life. 

“Draco.”

“ _Potter_ oh, Merlin- do that again.”

Smiling, Harry obliged, spitting roughly into Draco’s pretty hole before bending low over it. 

“What- what're you gonna do?” Draco panted. His wrist lay limp in Harry’s grip, and the brunet shuffled it upwards until he had Draco’s sticky, bejewelled fingers clasped firmly in his own. He dropped a kiss onto his soft bum and smiled. 

“Gonna eat you.” 

Draco was not given a chance to react before Harry’s tongue was licking a hot stripe across his opening. Draco screamed, twitching and thrashing against his grip. He smiled, tasting the the clean, heavy flavour of musk, of _Draco_ on his tastebuds and God, he was eating Malfoy. He was making out with his arse and he _liked_ it.

“Potter!” he cried, wriggling against the brunet’s mouth and pressing his arse further onto it. “Potter, Potter, Potter, oh- oh Lord, oh Merlin, fuck me-”

Bobbing his head so he was fucking him with his tongue, Harry used his free hand to massage the top of the blond’s thigh, to run over the side of his flank and give his cock a teasing little _pull_.

“Stop! Stop, Potter,” he pleaded, and Harry halted his ministrations immediately, “I’ll cum all over your hand if you keep at it like that. I need… I want your cock in me.”

Gingerly, Draco flipped himself onto his back. His forehead was beaded with sweat, and although not quite as artistic as the soft light of the sconces dancing on his damp skin, the morning light illuminated his whole body, leaving him plain for Harry’s eyes to behold. 

He extended his arms, and Harry gladly fell into his embrace, kissing Draco’s brow, his nose, and finally his bow-lips with fiery abandon as the blond attempted to feel him up and battle with his flies simultaneously. Even through a layer of thick denim, Harry could feel the heat of his bare skin as well as every drag of Draco's hard cock against his thigh. 

Parting from his bedmate momentarily, Harry moved to whip off his shirt. He did not, however, lose eye contact with the blond for a second. Not when he was tugging Harry's cock carefully out of his trousers. Not when his eyes told him this was the only thing he'd ever wanted.

Harry kissed him again, Draco’s lips parting under his own like the petals of a blooming flower. He groaned, and ran his hands over his lover’s warm, pale body, shudders quaking the blond’s frame as he did so. 

“I want you,” Harry told him in a whisper. He leant in, close enough to his ear to feel its shell brushing against his lips, “I want you, Draco.”

His lover turned his head slowly, silver hair tumbling lethargically with the movement as he mouthed against the very corner of Harry’s jaw. He extended his tongue- historically laden with bitter insults and snide remarks- and licked a tight stripe over the skin there. 

“I’m happy to hear that,” Draco whispered back, his voice deep and husky, like the first sip from a bottle of firewhiskey. A nimble hand rose to curl at the base of Harry’s neck, tugging gently at the soft curls that resided there. The smile on Draco's lips was one that Harry could feel against his skin. 

“Get up, Potter,” Draco commanded, softly. Harry obliged, of course, and watched the blond eye him for another lingering second before climbing off the bed. Stupidly, his insecurities began to creep up on him and he wondered if this was all just an elaborate hoax to get Harry to surrender to him. 

However, Draco only sauntered over to the wall on the far right of the room. Harry lounged on his bed, trying his best to look nonchalant while his heart pounded in his ears. He could still taste him on his tongue, could feel the phantom touch of his warm hands all over his body. 

The line of saliva on his cheek cooled as he watched Draco halt before his vanity. He seemed to analyze his reflection in the mirror for a brief moment- the flawless skin, the rosy cock that stood impossibly hard between his thighs- before his gaze flicked to meet Harry’s in the mirror. 

Mentally, he applauded himself, because his reflection showed him looking much more calm than he felt, especially when Draco’s mouth curved into a sly little smile. 

Bending himself at the waist in front of the vanity, he braced himself against the edge of the low dressing-table in front of it. He stuck his arse out far enough to show off his lovely little hole, as well as a glimpse of his soft, pink sac. 

"Come over here, Potter," he beckoned smirkingly, “Come fuck me.”

Harry was on his feet faster than Draco could finish his sentence, and was struggling against his jeans by the time he'd started another. 

“I want you to take me from the back like a common whore,” Draco instructed, reaching behind himself with one hand to spread his buttocks apart. Perhaps involuntarily (though he doubted it), his puckered hole clenched, and the movement of Harry’s hands quickened exponentially. He was nearly done with his pants. 

“And while you do it, I want you to watch me- watch us. I want to watch us having sex in the mirror. Wouldn't that be nice?”

Finally free of the restrictive fabric, Harry kicked the denim aside with a glare before hurrying over to where Draco stood offering himself so shamelessly. 

“You've been such a tease,” he told him, digging his thumbs into the crease between his cheeks and spreading them. Draco's hand had long since returned to join its mate at the edge of the table, rings clacking noisily against the wood. 

“That was the _point_ ,” Draco replied cheekily before breaking into a soft moan as he surely felt the tip of Harry's cock nudging the tight ring of his entrance.

Leaning far enough forward that the tip of his nose brushed against the smooth expanse of Draco’s back, Harry slammed into him, using all of his levity to push his way inside. Draco let out a sharp moan at his sudden entrance, and hung his head between taut arms, weak whimpers of pleasure escaping his lips.

“Fuck,” Harry breathed, and saw his glasses fog up with the heat of it, “so damn tight, Draco. Are you sure you let that guy fuck you last night?”

"Mm, no. I wouldn't let him. This is _yours_ , Potter. It always has been," he sighed, his words sending shivers of contentment through him. Reaching behind himself, Draco grabbed onto Harry’s hair, tugging on it roughly to force his head up. “I think I told you to _watch_.” He complied with a smile, allowing to himself be dragged up the length of his lover’s back. He adjusted their positions so that he had his chin hooked over Draco’s shoulder, and their eyes met in the mirror- green on silver. 

Harry slid out of Draco almost completely, and snapped his hips hard. The blond stuttered forward, with another loud moan a fierce yet playful look in his eyes boring into him as he caught his stare. He eyed his lover’s body in the vanity, his pale limbs and rosy nipples, his toned torso and his hard cock that was flushed pink and practically leaking against his stomach.

He sucked a hickey onto Draco’s skin as he quickened his pace, going at him as hard and fast as he possibly could, centering his roaming hands firmly on his hips to steady him. Draco clutched the table, bottles of cologne and decorative little trinkets chattering against the glass tabletop as it shook violently to each erratic thrust of Harry's hips. He was in bliss; the impossibly tight column of Draco’s arse sucking his cock _in_ with fervour each time he thrusted and clenching it tightly in its sweet heat each time he made to pull out. Harry saw him bite his lip, actively trying to hold back, but despite his best efforts he couldn't help but let his moans escape.

"Potter..." he sputtered in a gasp, taking several sharp intakes of breath, “fuh, fuck- I’m, I’m _yours_ \- yes! Lord, oh Lord, fuck- fuck me, _harder_! Harder-”

Harry pushed him closer against the vanity so he could keep him centered at their furious pace, freeing one of his hands up to slip it loosely around his cock. “I want you,” he kissed his neck, his shoulders and his back as he watched Draco’s expression slip into one of pure ecstasy, “Ohhh-” he moaned, letting his head loll back onto his lover’s shoulder, “tell me- again.”

“I want you,” Harry complied immediately, pulling at Draco’s cock in tandem with his thrusts, feeling the foreskin slide noisily over his shaft and revelling in his lover’s moans, his whimpers and his ‘ _ah-ah-ah_ ’s. “I want you, Draco. I want you so much- I want your, your beautiful face and your, _nnn_ your pretty little arse and your- _fuck!_ I want you I want you I _want_ -”

"POTTER!” Draco interrupted, screaming as he came all over himself- his lithe body jolting and his cock spurting thick white strings of cum on his stomach as well as his mirror. Harry held his sides firmly, even as his own orgasm threatened to overwhelm him. He all but collapsed from his climax, continuing his strokes lazily inside Draco wet heat. He felt his own spunk dribble out the sides of his lover’s hole while he slowly straightened up, sliding out gently as the blond spun around to face him, leaning heavily against the abused vanity. Harry kissed Draco deeply, gripping his face in one hand, arse in the other as the latter wound two strong arms around his shoulders and drew him in impossibly closer. 

“Mmm… I want you,” Harry whispered, finally, as he drew away from him. Draco’s answering smile was brilliant in it's brightness. 

“I want you… more,” he whispered back, leaning forward to lick at Harry’s lower lip. He closed his eyes against the feeling, fingers tightening on Draco’s body. 

How had he ever survived without this?

The blond hummed lightly, leaning his head against Harry’s chest. His downy-soft hair tickled his chin. 

“Bed?” he asked, and dragged Harry over to the aforementioned place without waiting for an answer. 

He watched lazily as Draco tugged silken sheets over his nude body before slipping in beside him. Once settled, he drew his arms around him, resting one palm atop Harry’s chest. It tickled when his fingers played with the dark curls there, and he smiled against the feeling. 

“Did you know,” came Draco’s soft drawling voice close enough to his ear that he could feel the warmth of his breath against his skin, “that this is the best day of my life? I’m almost afraid to close my eyes,” he said as he did exactly that, and burrowed his cheek into Harry’s chest, “lest it turn out to be an elaborate delusion fueled by alcohol on an empty stomach and sub-par head from _Terence_ fucking Higgs.”

He turned to look at him, his big grey eyes gazing up at him with a sort of reverence that suggested Harry had done nothing less than hang the moon. He smiled at him, and tucked a blond lock of hair behind his ear, “Well, I suppose I know now.”

**Author's Note:**

> a special thank you to everyone who showed love to this fic, because this was a plot baby that was very dear to me and every ounce of love it gets makes me really happy! ♡♡ if you've got the time, please do leave me a comment and let me know what you think!♡ i'd really, really appreciate it :-) thank you! 
> 
> my twt is @dracominnie if you'd like to be friends!₊*̥(* ⁰̷̴͈^⁰̷̴͈)‧˚₊
> 
> others by me:
> 
> [Foreshadowing (I Really Should Have Seen That Coming) (2.8K)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20764577)
> 
> [Father's Eyes (4K)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019106)
> 
> [Declarational Magic is the Worst (But I'm Glad We Didn't Keep Our Mouths Shut) (3.6K)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22336612)


End file.
